and so, he said to me, “Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you want me? Because once I fall in love, there is no turning back. I love hard, and I will be obsessed with you I will smother you”.

    

                                                                                                  please do not smother me; 
                 

                              smothering implies force. 
                        It implies suppression,
                   maybe a hint of aggression, 
              with a dab of oppression 
          and a handful of asphyxiation.
      In which one kills another,
   by with the stifling of breath and emotion.
It is the death of something.

       
          
               Instead engulf me in your love;
          let me be immersed in it.
cradle me.
coddle me. 
shelter me.
                
                         let me breathe,
          
                             
                 so that I can appreciate it
                       and feel it all around me;
                that makes it so much better.
      ever so soft.
      ever so loving. 
      ever so gentle. 

                

           I understand why you want to smother,
I do.
                                  Why you want to cover parts of me
                              that you feel are light-filled.
                          Watering me with muddled emotions and actions
                     that you feel are quite harmless, but understand;
                like flowers overwatered,
             and placed in the shade
        death will become me.
         I too,
    struggle with the feeling to
repress and restrain
                                           
                                         I do 
      
                         

        
                         , but you’re somebody too
                     you’re important.
                Your love is a torrent;
        the best thing you can give along with,  
your time. 
   It’s valuable, 
so you shouldn’t give if it is unwanted 

                          


                                     even to me;
   especially to me
                      

        
                     or at least don’t make it a habit with anyone 
                 you see 
           because you are too precious 
      and too valuable 
   you say I am special,
but you too, are important 
                 

                , but thank you 

                                
         I do,
                           appreciate the gesture and the thought; 
                     I do.
                  I want your love but not like that.
               I really do,
           just not that way.
       Just not by suffocation. 
 I want to be engulfed in it…

                    
there’s a difference,
        I do not want to die… I do not want to suffocate.

study the palms.
it is important to
know the branches that
the stems of their
heritage root from.

kiss the cheek.
begin to send them
like postcards.
they will look back
and read the messages
hidden in the inside
jokes and in-between
the lines.

analyse the eyes.
you can always tell
if they’re to be trusted
with keeping secrets,
memories
or promises.

tend to their wounds.
for outside there are
salted oceans
that will submerge them,
and they will sting,
and sometimes they will
say things they
didn’t mean.

dance with them.
for there is nothing
more securing than
knowing that,
despite the separate
paces of life,
there is a time signature
that will keep you
marching to the same beat.

my head emptied
as though bathwater down a drain, and i became simpler:
than the children kicking and screaming and skinning their knees on mulch,
than the cars coming and going and crashing and catching dead bugs in their killer windshields.

suddenly, ripples were spreading gently through the sky
like it was a body of water, being stirred to life by the clouds
like they were the fluffy fingers of a kid poking at his fish bowl,
and i started wondering what a sky even was
and if it could be the ground
if i sought to somehow stand on it.

i sat in the grass, plucked out its longest blades
like i was a brush tearing hair from the scalp of the earth,
started weaving little green bracelets, like I'd done as a boy,
and i did it until the sun had started to go down,
unable to connect the sky’s slow setting
to a passing of time.

it’s 9:30pm on a
chilly autumn night
i step into the
passengers seat
of your car as you
start the engine

music blaring from
the speakers as the
thundering bass
vibrates through
the entire car
i couldn’t get a word
out because it was so loud

we stop at a red light
I turn to look at you
as the red light
hits your face
i wanted to take a picture
it looked so aesthetically
pleasing with your side profile
as the red light shined in your face
making your face bright red like
the blush on my face when people
ask me about you

your grip on the steering
is so strong that i can see
your veins popping out
you look so focused
when you drive
it’s ****
with only one hand
on the wheel
the other i wish
was gripping my thigh

late night drives
with you are
my favorite

- night drives

i will write at length
about the brief time
we spent together

I once asked my parents if I could join cadets. They asked me if I knew what cadets grew up to be. I never brought it up again.

I got into a fight with a friend about her ex. We haven't spoken in months. She still hasn't forgiven me...

Someone detuned the piano in my mind and now music sounds awful. I want to find where melody and harmony met and made a straight line coming back to me.

do not rush to post
a poem written in the
early hours of morning
following a night of
indulging in dope or
Irish whisky neat
or a poem written
cold sober--you are
too close to your precious
creation to view it objectively

let the poem simmer
in your creative juices,
giving it a rest as a baker
does a ball of dough
after kneading it

let a few days pass then
reread your poem; read it aloud;
record it, listen to the recording--
does it read the way it hears?
revise appropriately applying
the process above to the revision

before you post the revised piece
edit for typos and errors
of grammar or spelling

following this process
shows you respect your poem
and your potential readers
who will read and respond in kind

i was asking you before
to discontinue your supply of poetic awakening
the ink that you're always giving me
has expired and dried two years ago
and i can never write about now.

i can never write about "what ifs",
i can never poetically execute my dreams
because i am contaminated by
our "what could have beens."

babe, your expired ink tastes bitter & toxic
but i just cant seem to stop you.
i don't ever want to stop you
i dont want to step forward.

here i am again, haunted by your memories
leading me back to the past that i have learned to seek shelter in.

you were to glue that pieces my bones together
whenever these four walls are declaring that i'm falling apart.

you are an endless pool of ink
and an endless pad of paper,
you want me to continue writing
because you said my face was too pretty to explode.

how could i step away from that?
i wish that my muscles would be strong enough to lift me away from here.
i wish i could say that this isn't about you.

i am never gonna move on from you
because the day that i do,
the day i will stop being a poet.